


Talk To Me

by DaFlangstLairde



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Fluff, Fluff and Crack, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Human Disaster Alexander Hamilton, Hurricane, Hurt Alexander Hamilton, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Strom - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-03
Updated: 2019-01-03
Packaged: 2019-10-03 16:38:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17287658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaFlangstLairde/pseuds/DaFlangstLairde
Summary: That was the first time.The first time Alexander finally noticed this soft side of Thomas. Their dynamic had always been hard - all insults and jagged edges and arguments. Why should it be otherwise? Of course, this softer side of Jefferson had always been right in front of Hamilton - but of course Alexander, being so well-known for his intense wits and sharp mind, had been denser than a brick and had failed to take notice in it. But now that he had shown his own softer, bare side to Thomas, the scratchy wool has been pulled away from in front of his eyes - a wool he himself placed there.Maybe, after all, Jefferson isn’t an emotionless demon whose only purpose is to terrorize Alexander. Even if Jefferson was a demon, he’d be an incubus.





	Talk To Me

**Author's Note:**

> Requested! Alex, PTSD from the hurricane, Jamilton

"Hey? Тalk to me"    


  
That was the first time. 

  
  
The first time Alexander finally noticed this soft side of Thomas. Their dynamic had always been hard - all insults and jagged edges and arguments. Why should it be otherwise? From the moment they’ve met, they realized they just wouldn’t budge, wouldn’t bow down to the other, and so their horns clanked in a head-battle. Of course, this softer side of Jefferson had always been right in front of Hamilton - but of course Alexander, being so well-known for his intense wits and sharp mind, had been denser than a brick and had failed to take notice in it. But now that he had shown his own softer, bare side to Thomas, the scratchy wool has been pulled away from in front of his eyes - a wool he himself placed there, like a stubborn sheep, a ram with massive horns that wouldn’t put his pride down and instantly threw himself in a battle with the one alike him. 

 

Well, Thomas was to blame as much as Alexander was, He himself had played the part of a ram with massive horns. And when two such alike forces clashed together, neither willing to back down from the challenge out of… pride? Greed? Wrath? Whichever one of the sins you name. If you knew the two, ‘all the sins’ wasn’t an unacceptable answer either. But Alexander knew Jefferson, or at least he thought so. Apparently - not entirely. 

  
  
Of course, that didn't mean now Thomas is an entirely new person. No, he's still the same asshole. But now he isn't only and asshole - he isn't two-dimensional. At times, Alex would really question whether Jefferson was really a human being rather than a demon sent from hell to personally turn Hamilton’s life into it. Of course Alexander isn't as stupid and oblivious not to know Jefferson is a living, breathing human being - no matter his refusal to admit it - but it's so easy to see him just as an asshole without a genuine personality when that's all that Thomas is in front of him.

  
  
This is also the first time that Alexander has shown anything but despise and burning rage to Jefferson. And why shouldn't it be this way? Why would’ve Alexander shown a private, sensitive part of himself to Jefferson of all people? Hell, Alexander hadn’t shared that part of himself to some of his closest friends! Why should he, why would he do it to his self-proclaimed worst enemy?! There had always been that mutual agreement between the two - they argued, they hate each other, they insulted each other, they refused to see more of the other than that hateful image in their mind. 

 

It was a constant in both their lives, and one both of them clung to, for one reason or another. Alexander's reasoning behind it was that, well, he'll take whatever as long as someone knew about him. He doesn't mind having an enemy as long as that enemy remembering him after he was long gone, regardless if it's going to be a memory filled to the brim with hatred and rage. Yeah, maybe he was an attention whore - but who gives a fuck? Nobody wants to be left unnoticed, unseen, unheard. Alexander shivered at the thought. 

  
  
"-nder? Are you with me? Hey, you don' have to say anythin’. Just breathe. Focus on my voice." Thomas' voice. It was so soft. So was the hand that was oh-so lightly touching Alexander’s cheek; so were his eyes, that were - strangely - filled with concern. Alexander's own eyes were unfocused - he was zoned out, just barely there to hear the other's words. That was what he did during a flashback - zone out. Never cry. 

  
  
Hamilton had almost never cried in general. He could recall one time, one important time. He and his mother were sick, very sick, laying in the misery of their cheap mattress and sickness. Through hazy, fevered thoughts little Alex had prayed to God to get better - a kid can't take in so much pain and heat and disorientation. And he did get better. But his mother didn't. She died. And instantly, Alexander had regretted wanting to get better - he had wished for nothing more than to get his mommy ba _ ck please let me be in her place I want mommy back _ . Such a young child isn’t even capable of imagining a life without his momma, and suddenly this one witnessed her death before its bare eyes. From then Alex doesn't even believe in God - how could such a powerful being kill off the one person this little boy has left in his entire life? 

  
  
He didn't cry during the hurricane either - the same one that is actually the cause for his PTSD that on itself causes these zone-outs. And we've come full circle. During a zone-out Alex would... think. That's all. He won't see, or hear, or smell, or sense pretty much anything. He'd be trapped inside his own mind, trapped amongst thoughts like a hurricane, thoughts of a hurricane, of scr _ eams and oh lord please helps them help me somebody please _ . He won’t feel. His mind would be like deep waters - it’s cold. It’s empty. You can’t see, hear, breath. 

  
  
In not-very-frequent snippets he'd zone back in. And when he does, he realizes him and Thomas and not outside anymore. It's not wet and cold, no, it's warm and cozy and dry and nice. It’s not the hurricane. It's quiet - quiet, not the silence Alexander has grown to despise down to the very core of his being. There are little background noises, soothing and barely there but enough to softly fill the void. The most prominent one is of another person's breathing - Thomas'?. It's calm, levelled, deep. Alexander does his best to match it - when did he start hyperventilating?

  
  
"There we go." Thomas almost sighs in his soft, soothing voice. He sounds... relieved. A part of Alexander that he ignores questions it. "Are you with me now? I brought you to the nearest open shop, hope you don't mind. You were kinda out of it for a moment there." Thomas lets out a breathy chuckle that really doesn't express any true laughter. Alexander mirrors it. He's zoning in. 

  
  
He can't hear the storm outside. Can't feel the cold, malice drops of rain, trickling down his face and neck and back and legs and everywhere. Can't hear the screaming and crying and thunder and waves. It's warm, it's calm, it's grounding. The weirdest aspect is that the moment is shared with no other than Thomas Jefferson. Alexander can’t bring himself to truly care. "Jesus fuck, I can't believe you have to see me like this" Hamilton says, and there's more heat and bite to his words than intended. Like a sneer. Thomas pulls his hand away as if he was physically burned by them, retracting it to his chest; his expression is one alike to being struck by lightning. 

  
  
"Wow, okay, you can go fuck yourself as well" Thomas replies, snarl back on his face - and there it goes again, that constant of hatred and spite. Thomas, who just a moment ago was the softest, most calming, most grounding thing in Alexander's fucking mind, is all edges and high walls once again. "No, wait-" Alex tries to correct himself before it's too late, but it already is. "No, no, don't even begin to bother with whatever insult you're gonna throw jackass. Fuck you" Jefferson spits, and makes a step to storm off into the storm outside. Alex doesn't know which of the two is scarier to him.

  
  
By impulse - when has he not been impulsive? Just a minute ago he couldn't keep his mouth shut for a ducking moment - he reached and forcefully grabbed Jefferson's hands, yanking him away from the door. "No, don't go!" Alex says, and it's more desperate than he'll ever admit. "What? I'm not going to stay here and have another screamin’ match with you - the one earlier is more than enough for the whole day - because I know damn well that's where this is gonna go, it always does with you, and-" "Jefferson, shut the fuck up for a second" Alexander cuts him off, hands itching to just strangle the man, more based on instinct than anything.

  
  
Surprisingly, Thomas did shut his mouth, though his expression doesn't shift even one bit. He looks a mixture between wanting to begin insulting Hamilton in many ways and preparation to be the one insulted. Alex doesn't know which to focus on, so he just ignores both. "Fuck, sorry for that. It really wasn't meant to be delivered with that amount of venom." Alexander begins, and he'd be stupidly lying if he said that apologizing to Jefferson doesn't hold a bitter taste on his tongue. "And thank you. Really, thank you. I may not like the fact that you saw me in that condition, but thank you - for helping me so can much and for not making fun of it." On the other hand, thanking Jefferson carries more of a sickeningly sweet taste, one that overloads your tasting buds and makes you want to claw your tongue out. Maybe he was sugarcoating it? No, he swore he said it genuinely. “And I know it’s weird - it feels weird to me - but-”

  
  
But Thomas apparently didn’t believe it to be genuine. "Shut your mouth and fuck off with your half-assed apologies ‘nd all.” He cut off Hamilton. “As if I'd fall for that shit. Let go of my fucking hand and let me go home, I don't have time to deal with your fucking bullshit" He growled. But Alexander, as the 'stubborn pest' he is, pressed on. "It's not half-assed, asshole! I genuinely mean it! I'm sorry for reacting that way and I'm actually grateful for your help!" He hissed as a reply. "Yeah, and I wrote the Declaration Of Independence. Maybe I'd believe it if you didn't sound like a little child forced to apologize for his actions by the teacher!" Was what he received. 

  
  
With an exasperated groan, Alexander dragged Thomas to a table - apparently they were in some sort of 24/7 type of shitty diner. Well, it's warm and quiet, and even if it smells like rotten eyes, it's good enough. "Listen. Thomas. I may be a fucking asshole, but I am a human being. I feel guilty for snapping at you right after you dealt with my bullshit zoning out, and I really am grateful because you dealt with my bullshit zoning out. And yes, I really do mean it." Alexander said, and this time he said it like he really meant it - because he did. For a moment there's he though by the sour expression that Jefferson was giving him that the same one is just going to slap him and walk out. But nope. Instead he received a heavy sigh and the words "Okay. And it's fine, don' think anythin’ of it." Thomas said, rubbing the place between his eyes with them closed. There was that ever-present furrow of his eyebrows and Alexander thought never went away. Well, he thought that before actually seeing it go away. He wished it would go away again. 

  
  
"What exactly happened?" Thomas asked, and the question took Alex back for a moment. "Uh... Post-traumatic stress disorder. A- there was a hurricane, and, uh, storms trigger the memory, I guess" Alexander so eloquently stumbled over the words. It was a weird feeling to willingly share this with his enemy, felt like showing his very private diary to his bully or something of that sort. Rather than the common pity shit response he got for this information, a silence that itched him the wrong way fell over them. When he looked at the man sitting across the table, he was met with a curious frown. Huh, what a strange combination - a curious frown. 

  
  
"Oh well. You better now?" Thomas asked plainly, and if Alexander was feeling particularly dangerous he'd say a bit awkward. "Yeah, I guess thanks to you" he responded, giving an unsure smile that seemed to make the awkward tension thicker. Another silence washed over them, and this time it could be perfectly described as an uncomfortable one. Alexander thanked every single deity out there for the waiter that came to take their orders. Alexander asked for a cup of hot chocolate and Thomas asked for waffles. "Waffles? Seriously?" Alex playfully raised and eyebrow at the other, an attempt to not stay silent anymore. "Hey, this diner has good-was waffles. It may have shit everything else, but the waffles are worth it. You have no right to blame me" Thomas huffed, falling into the banter as easy at it always is. "Actually, I do, because-" and so they continued to chatter away on the topic of whatever came to mind, no more awkward silences - both of them were familiar with this "arguing" (read: petty, childish banter).

 

Maybe, after all, Jefferson isn’t an emotionless demon whose only purpose is to terrorize Alexander. Even if Jefferson  _ was _ a demon, he’d be an incubus.    


**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed! Feel free to request!   
> Also, whoever understood what the incubus thing meant will get a cookie. No, a whole box of fuken cookies   
> -DaFlangstLairde


End file.
